Ursula eBook

The post master did not listen to the end of this
scene; he slipped away on tip-toe, remembering that
the lock of the study was on the library side of the
door. He had been present in former days at an
argument between the architect and a locksmith, the
latter declaring that if the pagoda were entered by
the window on the river it would be much safer to
put the lock of the door opening into the library on
the library side. Dazzled by his hopes, and his
ears flushed with blood, Minoret sprang the lock with
the point of his knife as rapidly as a burglar could
have done it. He entered the study, followed the
doctor’s directions, took the package of papers
without opening it, relocked the door, put everything
in order, and went into the dining-room and sat down,
waiting till La Bougival had gone upstairs with the
poultice before he ventured to leave the house.
He then made his escape,—­all the more easily
because poor Ursula lingered to see that La Bougival
applied the poultice properly.

“The letter! the letter!” cried the old
man, in a dying voice. “Obey me; take the
key. I must see you with that letter in your hand.”

The words were said with so wild a look that La Bougival
exclaimed to Ursula:—­

“Do what he asks at once or you will kill him.”

She kissed his forehead, took the key and went down.
A moment later, recalled by a cry from La Bougival,
she ran back. The old man looked at her eagerly.
Seeing her hands empty, he rose in his bed, tried to
speak, and died with a horrible gasp, his eyes haggard
with fear. The poor girl, who saw death for the
first time, fell on her knees and burst into tears.
La Bougival closed the old man’s eyes and straightened
him on the bed; then she ran to call Savinien; but
the heirs, who stood at the corner of the street,
like crows watching till a horse is buried before
they scratch at the ground and turn it over with beak
and claw, flocked in with the celerity of birds of
prey.

CHAPTER XV

Thedoctor’swill

While these events were taking place the post master
had hurried home to open the mysterious package and
know its contents.

My dear Angel,—­The fatherly affection I
bear you—­and which you have so fully justified—­came
not only from the promise I gave your father to take
his place, but also from your resemblance to my wife,
Ursula Mirouet, whose grace, intelligence, frankness,
and charm you constantly recall to my mind. Your
position as the daughter of a natural son of my father-in-law
might invalidate all testamentary bequests made by
me in your favor—­

“The old rascal!” cried the post master.

Had I adopted you the result might also have been
a lawsuit, and I shrank from the idea of transmitting
my fortune to you by marriage, for I might live years
and thus interfere with your happiness, which is now
delayed only by Madame de Portenduere. Having
weighted these difficulties carefully, and wishing
to leave you enough money to secure to you a prosperous
existence—­